


The Consumption of Life

by nakajimagardenar



Series: The One Where You Do Giant Alien Robots [6]
Category: Transformers: Robots in Disguise (2015)
Genre: COPIOUS AMOUNTS OF GROSS, Cannibalism, Drabble Request, EXCEPT CHOP SHOP BUT CONSIDERING HE'S YANDERE AND THIS IS HORROR, Emetophilia, F/M, Gore, Horror, LITERALLY NOBODY THINKS WHAT CHOP SHOP IS DOING HERE IS ANYTHING CLOSE TO RESEMBLING LOVE, NO RAPE HERE BUT THERE'S DEFINITELY NON CONSENSUAL STUFF ABOUND, NOT A GOD DAMNED LOVE STORY, Oviposition, Rape/Non-con Elements, Reader has female parts, Reader has no defined gender, SO PLEASE KEEP THAT IN MIND OKAY LOVE IS THE FURTHEST THING FROM ANYONE'S MIND, Stuffing, THERE IS DEFINITELY NOTHING REMOTELY ROMANTIC OR TENDER GOING ON HERE, Vore, YOU SHOULDN'T READ THIS I PROMISE YOU'RE NOT MISSING ANYTHING, Yandere!Chop Shop, oh boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-09
Updated: 2016-02-09
Packaged: 2018-05-19 07:37:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5959090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nakajimagardenar/pseuds/nakajimagardenar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spiders and other insects eat their eggs to survive.</p><p>[[ Warning: This fanfiction contains graphic depictions of involuntary feeding and literally NOBODY thinking what Chop Shop is doing (other than Chop Shop himself) is in any way form or shape classified as love, so stop acting like this is a fluffy sweet love story, because it's NOT. ]]</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Consumption of Life

**Author's Note:**

  * For [adelita-sanchez](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=adelita-sanchez).



> Just another reason why Helen and I shouldn't be friends. Also, not once does the Reader think Chop Shop's actions constitutes as love - Literally nobody but Chop Shop thinks that, and if you read the tags before clicking on the story link, then you should know this isn't a fluffy cute love story but a fucked up horror mess.

You don’t want this.

You absolutely, positively don’t want this. It hurts, the way he’s holding you down, a servo clutching at your wrist (your arm really), fingers wrapped tightly around your limb almost hard enough to break bone, and that isn’t even the worst of it. You shake your head, teeth clenched stubbornly hard, so hard your entire jaw feels sore, and that sick, hot look of desperation on his face gives way to righteous indignation.

“But they’re for you, they’ve always been for you!” He hisses the words out like venom, his grip tightening and the sickening sound of bone snapping, splintering against the force of his touch shatters the otherwise calm of the room, and god, oh fuck you can’t keep your mouth shut when that first wave of pain rolls down your arm, all the way down to your toes. He catches your jaw with his free servo, thumb and forefinger squeezing just enough to keep you from closing your mouth, and you know you’ve already lost, you’ve absolutely lost and now you had to pay for your foolish affections.

He presses his lips against your mangled arm, warm metal engulfing your bruised skin and pulling away stained red with your blood, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, but babe you made me do it, you just wouldn’t listen - "He babbles almost reverently against your skin, the tip of his glossa lapping at your hurt and swirling along the break in your arm, denta nipping carelessly until you’re almost sure he’s going to bite down and snap your limb off, but - No, he doesn’t do that, not today. Maybe not for a while, maybe not ever, but what he has in store, what he wants from you is far worse than being eaten.

With utmost care he releases your broken arm, swaddling it in a strip of cloth that you recognize as one of the sheets you had loving laid out on his (your) nest, and your stomach does a revolted flip when you realize how wet and sticky it feels against you (you don’t want to think about why that is, about what that gooey thick wetness is, not right now). He cradles your jaw almost lovingly, easing you down onto your hands and knees, and he makes a great show out of selecting an egg from the nest, humming pleasantly to himself before selecting one of the larger eggs in the clutch - It’s a rather lovely shade of maroon with slathers of metallic silver, matte and completely smooth save for a few ridges here and there, about the size of your own clenched fist.

"This is fine.”

The Combiner nods to himself, before turning his attentions back towards you, the egg brought up to your mouth. He brushes the crown against your bottom lip, mockingly gentle and full of affection, and when you tear your eyes away from the ground to look up at his face, there’s nothing there but adoration, love sick and hungry and oh, so so hungry. Your breathing hitches and your throat constricts when you feel him push the egg into your mouth, candy hard shell knocking against your front teeth hard enough to make you wince. You want to kick out and to thrash wildly, but the weight of his determination is oppressive, and your arm is still aching, and now your jaw hurts too, forced open against your will and an egg too large being coerced inside.

You jerk your head back, and it comes as a genuine surprise to him when you do, so much so that you slip out of his fingers, rolling onto your back and getting on your knees; it’s fight or flight time now, and you want to get as far away as possible. A useless want for sure, and you barely have time to brace yourself when the spiderbot screams, sharp and loud and terrible, and he knocks you back down hard enough for you to hit the your head against the cold concrete, stars bursting behind your vision from the impact. You blink back tears and the mortification of defeat, even as he drags you down onto his knee and starts squeezing at your throat, his thumb pressing painfully hard against your trachea until you cave and open your mouth, coughing and gasping and clawing uselessly at warm metal.

The egg is brought back to your lips, but it’s too big, there’s no way you can fit it in your mouth, and even if you could you don’t want to, this came from him, this came from you, why would you ever concede to eating it, why why - !! There’s a terrible cracking sound that stills your desperate struggling, and something cold and slick touches your lips, your tongue, drips viscously down the back of your throat. Chop Shop all but twitters his glee as your disgust and horror mounts, and you have to consciously fight back the urge to throw up when the shell gives under the combined force of the spiderbot grinding the egg against your teeth and said teeth’s inability to give, and the smell is something awful, like petrol and over ripe fruit.

Raw albumen drips down your chin, even more of it pooling in your mouth and trickling down your throat when Chop Shop tilts your head back and you have to endure, but it’s the yolk that really makes it unbearable, the heavy solid blob catching on the roof of your mouth and triggering your gag reflex, but the Decepticon is relentless, pushing the rest of the broken egg past parted lips and down your throat, thick slivers of unbroken shell mixing with runny glaire that threaten to stick to your esophagus, but even the unconscious clenching of your throat is easily overcome when Chop Shop digs his thumb just above your pulse, and suddenly you’re sputtering violently for air, everything sliding down and filling you up, god, oh god it’s disgusting, and it’s all you can taste in your mouth, and -

The yolk finally breaks, at least half of it pouring out of your mouth, dribbling down your chin and splattering all over your thighs, sticky and with the consistency of mucus. The rest comes to rest hot and heavy in the bottom of your stomach, and the con makes a sound you can’t quite identify, scooping you up with a servo and bringing you to his lips, glossa lapping at the spilled egg, smearing it across your stomach, your legs. You turn your head and heave, each mouthful of air struggling past the thick sticky mess in your mouth, and you end up throwing up all over yourself, on Chop Shop’s servos and you don’t know when you started sobbing but you can’t stop, and it hurts to even think about swallowing, but your body does it anyway, and you just want it to stop, please stop, this isn’t what you want -

Chop Shop pauses, peering up at you from between your legs, head tilted to the side as he smiles, a smile full of longing and promises of terrible things. “Time for the next one, love!”

**Author's Note:**

> Tell me I'm gross and send me drabble prompts (Transformers or Undertale) at http://muffetsofficial.tumblr.com/ !!


End file.
